Seeing Tomorrow
by writing1swat
Summary: Dean Colt has a sweet life. He's a Homicide Detective with a gift from God. He's got a girlfriend that loves him and an awesome car. Then he, literally, crashes into Sam Winchester, a boy that claims he can talk to the dead…Eventual Sam/Dean WIP
1. Chapter 1

**Seeing Tomorrow**

Summary**: Dean Colt is the best Homicide Detective LA has seen. Being a Mind Reader means he can get the job done fast and efficient. He's 26 and life is sweet. He has a girlfriend that he loves and loves him back and he has it planned down to the wire where life will take him. He's got his sweet ride too, a '67 Chevy Impala. What Dean hasn't counted on is crashing, quite literally, into a young man named Samuel Winchester who claims he can see and talk to the dead. Things start to fall apart after that…Eventual Sam/Dean, Dean/Lisa**

Rating**: PG 13+**

Disclaimer**: Please note that I do not own any of the characters or places you recognize but there are some places that are made up for fiction purposes.**

I also want to warn you guys that this is a WIP (Work In Progress). The chapters after this will be longer.

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**Chapter 1**

"Hey! Hey, nice ass ya got there," Dean leered at Blondie and her redheaded friend that were a couple people ahead of him in line at Starbucks. He slowly got out his wallet from the back pocket without taking his eyes off the two women. The double glares he received didn't deter his determination to try and make some friendly morning conversation. Dean had worse, a lot worse. "Aww come on, ladies, no need to look like that. It was a compliment–seriously, hasn't anyone given you one before? Lighten up now. Sheesh."

"Really? We're supposed to be flattered because a perverted man like you told us we had 'nice asses'? Listen, buddy, that is_ not_ a compliment. That's degrading," Blondie huffed, then the two women turned around and moved up to place their orders, Dean left ignored.

He gaped at them, unable to think on how to respond to _that_. He ran his hand tiredly over his hair and muttered under his breath, "Women these days…son of a bitch."

There was a chuckle from behind him and warily, Dean turned to see a bulky man with a shaved head grin. "Feminists. You just gotta love 'em."

Dean snorted. He turned back around without saying a word, though quietly agreeing with the shared sentiment. When it was his turn to place his order, Dean moved to the counter and ordered a black decaf. He handed the cashier the money and took the cup, along with a straw, and a handful of napkins before leaving the store in a hurry. When he made it to the Impala, Dean sat heavily in the driver's seat and turned on the ignition. Almost instantly classical rock blasted in his ears and Dean caught the sweet smell of morning coffee.

Although he didn't have much taste for coffee, Dean liked going to Starbucks. He went there for the people, not the coffee, but he decided a while back that it would just look plain weird if he went there to sit at a table and not order, instead watch in rapt attention as people went in and out. LA had some interesting people, especially early in the morning where it's filled to the brim with really late owls and early morning people.

'People Watching' has always been a favorite pastime for Dean. He was born a Mind Reader and while it used to freak him the hell out when he was younger, it came with a couple perks, plus it was kind of fascinating delving inside people's heads. Or maybe that was just Dean being a freak. Being psychic tended to bring out the inner freaks in people.

Take Blondie as an example: on the outside she was a bitch that didn't seem to know a compliment if it hit her on the head, but when Dean read her mind in there? Complete opposite thoughts. Not that he hasn't heard any of the things she had been thinking, he just never thought an 'ice princess' was capable of thinking like that. Redhead was just as a bitch on the inside as on the outside though. No charades there.

Sometimes though, Dean stumbled on thoughts he would have been more than OK if he didn't hear them. Like with the bulky dude. Dean didn't mean to read his thoughts. It just sort of happened and when he realized what he was hearing, it was too late to shut it out. The damage was done. Dean would never be able to un-hear:

"_Now __**he **__sure got a fine ass_."

Dean did not have a problem with homosexuals. No sir, he did not. Well, usually, anyway. When it wasn't directed at him. Dean was not gay. He wasn't even bi. Or at least he thought he wasn't. He could be wrong. Possibly. But as far as he knew, not a single man had ever attracted Dean before. And he had Lisa, a woman who loved him and Dean planned on marrying sometime in the future. See, Dean had a structure, a plan of his future and Lisa, well Lisa was in it, and possibly a future son and or daughter.

He drank his coffee in a few large gulps, then put it back down in the drink holder with a contented sigh. His watch read 8:08 and Dean sped off to his office. He didn't have to report in until 9 am but it wasn't like he had much else to do. Due to his secret gift, Dean was the best detective LA had ever seen. He was both fast and efficient and no one had a clue on how Dean was so good at his job. They all just assumed he was some super genius. Although as flattering as it was to be called a genius, Dean really wasn't. He took an IQ test for laughs one day and was disappointed when he only managed to score high in the 'above average' range.

It was on a nearly deserted street when it happened: the accident that changed his life. Dean was too busy looking to the side at the woman debating on whether to chance crossing the street. He was about to slow down for her, still a good few yards away from the crosswalk. Then there was sharp '**thuuump**' that made Dean jolt up in his seat and slam his foot hard on the brake. The car screeched loudly to a halt, the sound much like nails on chalkboard that made Dean wince.

He took the key out and unbuckled his seatbelt, then opened the door and clamored out on shaky limps. Dean ran to the front of the car to where he heard the collision. The body on the ground was motionless when Dean knelt down to examine it. It was a young man with unruly dark brown hair and pale skin. He was curled up trying to look small but even at this angle Dean realized if the man stood up, he would be an impressive height. He took another moment to study the face and body, taking in the small rise and fall of his chest, realizing that the man was still alive. Slowly Dean turned the body so that the man was resting on his back instead of his side.

Miraculously there wasn't a trace of blood that was visible. He debated internally for a moment to whether he should pull up the man's shirt to look to see if he was bleeding and it just wasn't serious enough yet to show through the fabric of the stranger's clothes. He sighed and pulled up the shirt to examine the skin to confirm that apart from a few minor scrapes and a bruise or two, the man was not seriously injured.

Dean pulled the shirt back down with a mix of relief and anxiety. There was no way he could leave the guy like this–he probably had a concussion thanks to Dean. He glanced up to see that while Dean had been busy fretting over the unconscious guy, the woman had long since made up her mind about crossing the street. He rose to his feet and hauled the man to the backseat of the Impala, intent on taking him to the nearest hospital. He gave another glance at his watch**:** 8:22. He had plenty of time.

As Dean drove to the Saint Peterson Hospital that was right across from his building, the man stretched in the backseat gave a low moan and shifted around to get more comfortable. Almost anxiously Dean glanced over his shoulder as he slowed down to the yellow light. He stopped behind a large Van when it changed to red. There was another loud shifting and a pained groan as the man started to rouse awake, hazel brown eyes blinking groggily at him in the rear-view mirror. Dean attempted a friendly smile that came out slightly awkward when they caught eyes.

The chain reaction that issued next went so fast that Dean barely had time to think. The man had stopped shifting, his eyes impossibly huge as he stared into the mirror at Dean and Dean was sure he was mirroring the man's. He looked utterly scared, and Dean could understand that. He was about to attempt to calm the man down before he tried to do anything rash that either one of them would regret later, but then the fear shifted into rage the next moment and before Dean could process what was happening, the man in the backseat rose to a sitting position, shoulders hunched, looking suddenly ready to spring an _attack_. Dean's heart thumped hard in his chest when the man lunged at him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Seeing Tomorrow**

Summary**: Dean Colt is the best Homicide Detective LA has seen. Being a Mind Reader means he can get the job done fast and efficient. He's 26 and life is sweet. He has a girlfriend that he loves and loves him back and he has it planned down to the wire where life will take him. He's got his sweet ride too, a '67 Chevy Impala. What Dean hasn't counted on is crashing, quite literally, into a young man named Samuel Winchester who claims he can see and talk to the dead. Things start to fall apart after that…Eventual Sam/Dean, Dean/Lisa**

Rating**: PG 13+**

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**Chapter 2**

His head collided hard against the steering wheel, the loud impact made him see stars all around him. Moaning as pain shot down his spine, Dean attempted to push him back up, but the heavy body on top him prevented any such movements. For all intents and purposes he was trapped under the man's weight, and he tried to push up again, only managed to lift his head for two seconds before it was forcefully pushed back into his steering wheel. The sound of his car's horn loud and deafening and Dean was barely able to get out a low, pained, "_Son of a biiiitch_."

It wasn't very long after that, that he felt something whiz through the air just barely over his head by his right ear. He didn't have time to wonder what was happening before he heard the earth shattering sound of the Impala's windshield breaking into dozens of little shards, felt slight stings on his neck as glass nicked his skin. He heard a loud hiss from the man covering his back with his giant body as more shards landed on them. Before he could ask what the hell was going on, the air was split in half again as two more things went whizzing over their heads.

Dean heard the heavy impact as they hit the Van in front of them. When it felt like it was all over, the air finally still and heavy, the deep pants of breath the only sounds Dean could hear in the car over his hammering heart, he carefully lifted his head to look at the damage. The man on top of him slowly let go and moved back to the backseat again, curling into a giant ball that made Dean almost laugh because it looked a little too ridiculous. Had the circumstances been different he would have. But right now he was bewildered and he wanted answers.

He leaned over and grabbed the startled man's arm. He wished like hell his heart would just calm down and go back to beating normally, but there was really nothing normal about this situation. After he had looked at the dents in the Van ahead of him he came to the only conclusion he could. They had been shot at, fucking shot at, and the only person that didn't seem all too affected by this as he should be was sitting hunched over like a little kid in the backseat of his damn Impala.

"What the hell was that about?" Dean demanded, not letting go even as the man made a desperate attempt to tug his hand back. "Start talking. _Now_."

The man was silent for a moment, finally stilled in his efforts to get away, his expression contemplative. Finally he sighed. "Fine. You want the truth? You're being targeted."

It sounded ridiculous at first. Who the hell would want to target Dean? He was just some guy, albeit a good detective but that was it. His doubt must have showed on his face because the man snorted and ripped his arm from his grip with a strength that didn't seem human. "That's the truth. You wanted the truth, I told you the truth. You're being targeted," the man insisted.

"Well then, if that's the case then why? And by who? And how the hell do you know?"

The man looked to the side, to the empty seat next to him, inclined his head as if he were listening to something only he could hear. He nodded once or twice, the movement subtle, a twitch of his jaw, then he looked back at Dean with a thoughtful frown. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the door and Dean understood without words what he wanted to do before he was opening the Impala's door. He reached to stop the man, to demand that he at least answer his questions first. Why was he in danger and by who and how did this guy know all this and who in hell was this jackass in the first place? As if sensing his movements, the man whipped around to direct a glare at him.

"If you want to continue living, you'll follow my lead and get the hell out of the car. It's not safe here."

Startled at the feral response, Dean leaned back before he felt his head bob up and down almost of its own accord, his hands stumbling to fumble with the car door. He managed to unclasp his belt and open the door, the cold air licking at his exposed skin. Licking at his lips, Dean looked around a bit to take in the wreckage around him. The Van had dent marks, the owner had gotten out of his vehicle to look into the damage of the bullets. Other drivers had heard the impact and were out of their own cars trying to see what all the commotion was. Dean felt his gut churn as he looked behind him, wondering if he really had been the target where the hell the shooter could have went. Or maybe he was still here. At the thought panic started to rise up through his throat.

He saw the other man on the other side, already expertly weaving pass the multitude of cars. Dean hurried to catch up with the stranger. The man spared a glance at him as they crossed the street without bringing much attention. "I've got a place set up not far from here. We can talk there. I'll answer all your questions you've got to the best of my ability."

Dean nodded unsure of what to say. He licked his lips nervously, rubbed his neck. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

The man grinned. "Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Dean Colt."

Sam laughed and patted Dean on the back good naturedly. "Oh I already know who you are, Dean."

Dean raised an eyebrow and pretended that didn't sound too creepy. The place that Sam had set up for them to talk to was a moldy, run down motel that Dean was glad he didn't have the misfortune to regularly stay in. He and Lisa at least had a homely apartment to live in. Sam didn't seem too disgusted by the creaky floorboards, the plain bed with stains that Dean didn't want to know where they were from, and the peeling wallpapers. In fact the man seemed content, at home, so used to this style of living Dean felt a twinge of pity.

Sam didn't look like a person who had spent most of his time living in dingy motels. He didn't dress the part, Dean realized as he took in the green hoodie and blue jeans and sneakers. He looked like a regular college student up close, someone who would be living on campus or sharing an apartment with other college kids or still living with his parents. But the way he acted now as he stretched and walked over to the queen sized bed, he looked relaxed and loose and at _home_. Dean shook his head as he took a seat on one of the wooden chairs, winced slightly as it creaked under his weight.

"So what do you want to know first?" Sam asked finally as he sprawled back on the bed, arms tucked comfortably under his head as he looked pointedly at Dean.

Dean thought for a moment on what he wanted to know first. He shrugged as he silently made up his mind. "Everything but, just, you know, start at the beginning."

Sam nodded like he agreed with Dean. "Yeah, OK. The beginning. We'll begin there. So you already know my name's Sam Winchester and you know that I already knew who you were before you told me." Dean nodded in confirmation, doubt and skepticism showing briefly on his face. "Well see, here's what you don't know." There was a glint in Sam's eyes that caught him off-guard. "When I said I know who you are, Dean, I mean it. I know everything about you, not just your name. I know _what_ you are."

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting Sam to say, but that certainly wasn't one of them. Tensing, Dean decided to play dumb. "I have no idea what you're talking about, man." He began to rise from the chair. "Look, I didn't realize I just saved a crazy dude but thanks for sharing and all and I hope you feel better but I gotta go back before someone decides to take my car for a joyride." He let his words hang for a second before he made to go to the door.

But before Dean could get pass the bed, Sam had tackled him to the floor for the second time today, his body helplessly pinned by the man's weight. He struggled to get the man off him but the body wouldn't budge which annoyed Dean and made him double his struggle. The next second was a blur. Sam suddenly had Dean's arms pinned above his head, his weight crushing into his stomach as Sam shifted to straddle the detective. The only limbs free were his legs which Dean tried to use as he kicked wildly into the open air, arching up in a desperate attempt to free himself from the man above him.

"Just, will you just calm down?" Sam hissed into his ear as Dean struggled wildly to push him off. "Calm the fuck down. I'll let you go if you promise not to turn into the Hulk or something on me. OK? Deal?"

Dean felt Sam loosen his grip on his arms after a moment and he nodded, not trusting his voice yet. Finally after Sam studied his face for any traces of deception the man rolled off him to stand up. "Look I just want to talk. You can call me crazy all you want but first just at least hear me out, alright? I'm the good guy here, Dean. I'm on your side," Sam said.

The room was quiet again as Dean went back to his chair and Sam sat heavily down on the bed, the mattress dipped under his weight. "Alright," Dean relented quietly. "I'm all ears for now. Let's hear it."

Sam blew out a sigh of relief and nodded. He clasped his hands together and chewed the bottom of his lip as he regarded Dean thoughtfully. "I know you said you think I'm crazy but I don't think you actually meant it. I think you're worried that I wasn't lying when I said that I knew all about you, like your secret." Dean paled at that but Sam wasn't looking at him now. He stared off to the side for a moment and Dean traced his gaze to the wall he was looking at, wondering what was going on inside Sam's head. He tried multiple times on looking in Sam's mind but he always ran into a wall. Then suddenly Sam's head snapped back to Dean and panicking inwardly, Dean turned to look away.

"You tried it again," Sam announced loudly. Dean blinked in surprise, turned back to see hazel brown eyes stare back at him. "You're a Mind Reader, Dean, and you tried to read my mind just now, didn't you?" There was only a slight accusation in his voice.

"I have no idea what you mean," Dean hedged carefully.

"Quit playing dumb. It won't work on me. You're a Psychic. It's easy for other Psychics to see that."

"Other Psychics?"

The smile on Sam's face was bright. "Yeah. I'm Psychic too. Didn't I already tell you we're both on the same side?"

"Son of a bitch." Great. Sam was a Psychic too? He should have really seen that coming. Just what the hell was he getting himself into here?

After Sam's confession, Dean started to pay more attention to the conversation. Truth be told Dean had never met another Psychic before and while it shocked him, it also sent a little thrill down his spine. Sam's power wasn't really a power, more like an ability. He had been born able to see things normal people weren't able to see. Dead people. Fucking ghosts. Dean had to admit it was both a little cool and creepy.

"Eddy was the reason I tracked you down in the first place," Sam explained as he glanced briefly to his right. Dean guessed that was where 'Eddy' was standing, by the peeling wall. "He said you were in danger and uh, I wasn't too sure on how to approach you. You know, it'd be totally weird, if I just went up to your car and knocked on the window and said, 'Dude, I know who and what you are and your in danger so if you really value your life you'd get out of your car and follow me to my dingy motel room and oh, don't worry, I'm not crazy or anything, I'm a Psychic like you'." Dean stared at him, his jaw dropped in a gape and at least Sam had the decency to look a little sheepish, his cheeks a dark blush, his hand rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

It took a few minutes for Dean to digest what Sam had said. Finally his voice worked properly enough to say, "I think I might have thought you were a little less insane if you explained yourself there instead of purposely throwing yourself in front of my car to get my attention. Dude! What the hell were you thinking, man? You could've gotten hurt a lot worse than some nicks and scrapes! Hell, what would happen if you'd broken something?"

"It doesn't matter. It didn't happen," Sam said shifting uncomfortably on the bed.

The reaction made Dean raise an eyebrow at him. "It doesn't matter? Dude, of course it does," he blurted out. "So what if it didn't happen. You're just freakin' lucky! What about next time you do something insane like that?"

Sam sighed and shrugged. "Look, it really doesn't matter. Just drop it. Please?"

Dean shook his head. What kind of person didn't care enough about himself to make such reckless moves like that? Dean refused to just drop it. He got up and walked over to Sam, intent on making him see reason. Sam just looked at him warily, unconsciously leaning away as Dean took hold of his arm. He gripped Sam's hoodie and pulled it up to show him the wounds he had received from crashing into his Impala and scold him for his recklessness in a mother hen manner that his own mom would have done if Dean had done the same thing to her car. What was revealed shocked him from his thoughts.

There wasn't a single mark on Sam's stomach where Dean was sure there had been just a few hours ago. "What the h-hell?" Dean said in awe as he reached slowly to touch Sam's abdomen. Had he been in his right mind, his action would have shocked him. "You had scrapes and cuts and bruises all over. I saw them earlier! What the hell, man?"

Sam sighed and pulled Dean away from him, the sweater tumbling back down to cover his exposed flesh again. "Like I said earlier, it really doesn't matter because I can heal fast."

"No shit," Dean said bitterly as he reluctantly took a step back to give Sam more space. "What else can you do? Just so, you know, I don't get any more unexpected surprises."

"Nothing else. I swear. Well, aside from the wall I built up around my mind but I'm sure you already know that by now."

"Yeah, right, that. How can I forget you've got the Great Wall of China in that ginormous head of yours?"

Sam gave a bitter laugh. "Right. 'Great Wall of China'. Good one, man."

"Wasn't meant to be a joke but whatever, I'm a comedian even when I don't want to be."

"Sorry. Look man, can we just get back on track here? I know this is such a homely room and all but well, we don't have much time. I didn't exactly pay to stay here for long. We gotta get moving as fast as possible so I gotta hurry you through everything."

Dean sighed and grumbled, "This wasn't how I planned my morning."

"Yeah, sorry about that, man," Sam said looking completely unapologetic. "Look, uh, how much do you know about 'AHR'?"

"AHR? You mean that new feminist movement 'Activists for Human Rights'?" Dean frowned not seeing what that had to do with anything they had been recently discussing.

Sam sighed yet again and Dean was beginning to hate that sound now. He shook his head like Dean didn't have a clue on what he was talking about. "It's not exactly a feminist movement, Dean."

"Then what the hell is it?"

"It's a government act," Sam said simply which confused Dean even more. "On the outside it looks like another 'equal rights' movement but it's really from the government."

"OK. So?"

"And the government knows about us, Dean. _Us_, as in Psychics. They've known for months now."

Dean felt his eyes widen as he started to understand what Sam was trying to explain. He slumped down against the wall as Sam nodded like he knew exactly what was going through Dean's mind. "There's a war coming. It's us against them, Dean."

"Son of a bitch," Dean moaned wishing Sam wasn't telling him all this, wishing he wasn't here, wishing Sam had never crashed into his life because now, he realized, his old life was over and his fugitive life was just beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Seeing Tomorrow**

Summary**: Dean Colt is the best Homicide Detective LA has seen. Being a Mind Reader means he can get the job done fast and efficient. He's 26 and life is sweet. He has a girlfriend that he loves and loves him back and he has it planned down to the wire where life will take him. He's got his sweet ride too, a '67 Chevy Impala. What Dean hasn't counted on is crashing, quite literally, into a young man named Samuel Winchester who claims he can see and talk to the dead. Things start to fall apart after that…Eventual Sam/Dean, Dean/Lisa**

Rating**: PG 13+**

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**Chapter 3**

"So, ah, Eddy says we should get moving soon." Sam's voice broke through the silence in the room. Dean looked up to watch as Sam rummaged through a black suitcase filled with clothes.

"Eddy's your ghost friend, right?" It was rhetorical, the real question hidden underneath. Sam's raised eyebrow however told him he got it. Dean turned back to stare down at his shoes. He was curious about Sam. He had never met a person whose mind he didn't have easy access to, whenever he wanted. In fact, Sam was the first real, live Psychic Dean had the pleasure (or displeasure) to run into. He wondered how his ability worked, what the ghost's relation to Sam was, how he knew so much about the government when Dean didn't much give them much thought until just today. He wondered about Sam's story, his past life.

Sam shrugged as he packed up. "Yeah, I guess you can call him that. He saved my ass more times than I can count." He smiled at some past memories as he zipped the suitcase back up. "I know. I know what you're thinking. You think I'm one of those guys that should be helping putting spirits to rest, right? That if they're still stuck down here, obviously they got some unfinished agenda?" Sam snorted. Dean tried not to look too offended, even though that was exactly what he had been thinking.

"If that's not the case, then why is he still, uh, you know? A ghost?"

"Well, ah, see Ed's different. Kinda. Sorta. I mean, OK, he's dead. Yeah. But he was murdered."

"What?"

"I mean, don't get me wrong or anything, yeah, there are a lot of people that get murdered all the time but uhm." Dean almost felt bad seeing Sam look lost and all turned around on his thoughts, stumbling over his words. But he wasn't exactly making any sense and Dean was having trouble following his thoughts. Finally Sam just sighed and threw himself back on the bed, kicking the suitcase off the bed in his haste. He winced slightly.

"Oh come on. I knew you were lousy at explaining, Sam, hell, you even told me yourself but God, if I didn't see you in action I would have thought you were exaggerating but wow, the joke's on me, isn't it? I guess a fella really gotta do the work himself. Can't trust no one these days."

"Son of a bitch!" The new, unfamiliar drawl had taken Dean by surprise causing him to stumble back to the wall, green eyes like saucers as he stared at the ghostly apparition of the broad shouldered man sitting on the edge of the bed by Sam's feet. "I can, I can see you. Through you! Tell me…you're not actually a ghost are you? I'm going crazy, right?"

Sam heaved a sigh at the same time the man–ghost?–gave a dry chuckle. The apparition turned to face Sam but Dean could see him still watching Dean out of the corner of his eyes. He tried to get his breathing under control again. "Who is this chucklehead, mate?" The words loud enough for Dean to hear, but he didn't care, the room was spinning and he couldn't muster the energy to glare at him or anything. He was just trying not to fall down.

Sam rolled his eyes. "That 'chucklehead' happens to be the guy you told me to save. You know, Detective Dean Colt?" His voice was firm, scolding. To Dean, he looked slightly more apologetic. "Sorry, Ed here likes to show off. Like I was trying to explain to you earlier, he's different because he was a Psychic before he died."

"Still am," Ed exclaimed, turning back to Dean. "Sorry man didn't mean to scare ya."

Dean inclined his head as he accepted the apology. The room finally stopped spinning. "Whatever. You didn't scare me."

"Right." Ed grinned. "Then I guess we should get on with a more proper introduction. Nice to meet ya, Dean, my name's Benny Lafitte, but call me Ed."

"Not much of a 'proper' introduction if you already knew who I am," Dean grunted. Benny looked sheepish at that and Dean took it as a silent win. "How come you want to be called 'Ed' when your real name's Benny?"

Benny shrugged but didn't answer. Dean looked over to where Sam was lying instead, hoping to get the answer from him. He was far more intrigued by all this than he wanted to admit. "Ed is Benny's code name," Sam said. "He was an infiltrator before he got…caught." He left it at that though Dean's intrigue was even more piqued. Benny's face darkened through the brief explanation.

"So your Psychic ability…does it have something to do with how you can project yourself to me?" Dean asked, steering the conversation away.

He watched in quiet amusement as Benny blinked and Sam just gaped. Then to his surprise, Benny started to laugh. He stole a glance at Sam before grinning back at Dean like they had been best pals for years. "Smart fella you got yourself here, Sammy."

"Don't call me that," Sam said, an automatic response that made Dean raise a brow.

Benny snorted. "Oh come off it, mate. You know you secretly like that nickname."

"Not really."

The banter between the two men made Dean feel uneasy. It was obvious he was caught in the middle of a tender kind of relationship. They acted like…like brothers, like family. It almost made Dean's heart ache. But he wasn't sure why exactly. It wasn't like he was jealous or anything. He rarely thought of his own family anymore, not since getting a job in LA, meeting and falling head over heels for the girl of his dreams, Lisa…Lisa…oh shit. Dean suddenly jumped in the realization that he had to call Lisa and tell her what was up, call work and let them know something last minute had come up.

He was in the middle of taking out his phone to speed dial Lisa's when another realization struck him in the guts. Oh God, what the hell was he supposed to say to her? What the hell kind of excuse was he supposed to make up to his girlfriend and his boss? Not realizing he was pacing in the room like a madman, too caught up in his own inner turmoil, Dean nearly tripped over the chair.

"Dude, calm down," Sam called from the bed, having watched silently for a few minutes as Dean paced like a caged animal, but finally fed up. He got up quickly when he saw the detective about to fall back on his ass, catching the flailing limbs just in time. He shook his head in amusement. "What would you do without me?"

"I dunno, land on my ass all the time?" Dean retorted. "You can let go of me now, I promise I won't break."

"Alright, alright…just chill out. I'll let you go. There. Feel better?"

"Yeah, much," Dean said. Then he hung his head and sighed. "Actually no. Not really."

Sam nodded like he already knew. He studied Dean carefully. "What's got you so freaked out now?"

Dean shrugged and looked back down at his phone. Would it be better to just suddenly fly off the radar or call Lisa and let her know he was going to be OK? His hand clenched tightly on the phone. What if the police showed up asking for Dean? He looked helplessly at Sam trying without words to convey his predicament.

Much to his surprise, Benny was the one who figured out Dean's crisis. "Call her. Let her know something, just you know, not the truth."

Dean swallowed the bile back down his throat. "What if someone shows up at her door one day and asks?"

"Well it's not like they can really interrogate her if she doesn't know anything," Sam responded.

"But _they_ won't know that. They'll try," Dean insisted, biting his lips. "And what about my office? What am I supposed to say to my boss?"

"No," Benny snapped. "Don't call into work."

"Why the hell not? It's my fucking job."

"How do you think they were able to track you down to that traffic light?"

"What?" Dean's eyes widened as he dropped his phone in astonishment. It hit the floor with a loud clatter.

Sam sighed and went to fetch two beer bottles. He handed one to Dean and opened the other before chugging it down in one fluid motion. "Ed used to be a detective like you, Dean. He worked in the same building for almost a decade, knows it inside out really. He also knows the people there." The man paused and Dean knew without a doubt what he was going to say next. "He knew you."

"Benny Lafitte," Dean said under his breath, trying to remember someone on his floor with that name.

"Benjamin Lafitte the third," Benny supplied.

There it was. The name made sense now, it finally clicked. He remembered a Benjamin. He even took a few cases with the guy. How in hell had he not realized it? It didn't make sense. Dean stared at him in shock. More importantly, how come Dean never noticed he wasn't the only Psychic in the department? "What the hell dude? I can't believe I never realized you've been in my division for the past couple years," Dean exclaimed.

Benny winced. "Yeah, sorry 'bout that," the ghost said gruffly. "It's uhm, my gift."

"What's your gift? To stay unnoticed or something?" Dean asked incredulously. He was slightly unnerved by the lack of response when suddenly Sam started to chuckle, then let loose full-on laughter. Benny stayed stock still. "You're not shitting me? That's really your so called power?" It amazed him when he still got no reply or even a glare.

"Good God, this is hilarious," Sam guffawed. "Ed's got to have one of those useless Psychic abilities I've seen."

"What's so useless with being able to turn invisible?" Dean asked. "It's got a lot more perks than downsides if you ask me."

"He can't even do that, you know, turn invisible."

"What? Really? Is that true? Then what can you do?"

Benny sighed looking more embarrassed than a ghost should look. "It's like…OK, think of a Chameleon, blending with its surroundings."

Dean gawked at him as the words sank in. "You like blend in with walls and stuff?" He tried to imagine Benny the same color as the motel wallpaper or the wooden creaky floor.

"No! It's not like that. It's not that…lame."

"It really is though. Maybe even lamer," Sam cut in.

"So what can you do?" Dean repeated, thoroughly confused now.

"Yeah, Eddy, tell him or I will."

Benny scowled but mumbled, "I kind of, uhm, can make people forget about me."

Dean blinked at the quiet confession. Make people forget? That wasn't as bad as he thought. "Like, you uh, wipe their memory or something?" Memory wiping. Yeah that wasn't so bad. In fact the more he thought about the idea, it seemed cool. A lot cool actually.

"Or something," Sam interjected before Benny could reply. "It'd be pretty sick if he could actually control it."

Oh. Well…that sucked, Dean thought. And yet it made sense in a way that Dean didn't remember Benny until he said something about it. He blinked as he thought some more. "So is there some sort of rule? Like do you have to touch someone to make them uh, 'forget'? Or what?"

"Yeah I gotta touch them most the time," Benny admitted, "but sometimes it's enough just to stand a few feet away."

"That…sucks," Dean said. "I mean the power in general is awesome, just the not being able to control it thing sucks."

The ghost shrugged. "Good thing I'm more the solitary type."

"Liar," Sam said. "If that was true you wouldn't have come to me."

"Right. Whatever helps you sleep at night, mate."

"It's true though. You can't get enough of me or else you would have already found another Psychic to cling to by now," Sam insisted.

"I've had too much of you, you mean," Benny said, then paused before adding, "and I don't cling. Ghosts don't cling!"

Dean had to laugh at the brotherly banter they had going. It was obvious to anyone the two were really close. He wondered briefly how they met. "Ed had been suspicious of Adam for months before his death," Sam suddenly said, reading Dean like an open book.

Dean raised an eyebrow in surprise, then screwed his face in thought. "Adam? You're not talking about Adam Milligan, are you?"

"The one and only," Benny said.

"Shit. That was my last partner. We were working on this case about a supposed 'double suicide'."

Benny nodded like he already knew. He probably did, Dean realized. He was a ghost. It was easy for someone like him to get around without people noticing. Benny could have easily tailed Dean all week, or maybe months. He ran to the bathroom and shut the door, taking a few deep breaths at the sink. He could hear the two men talking to each other, their voices hushed so Dean wouldn't be able to eavesdrop. Not that he really wanted to.

This was too much. He barely knew these guys. They were both Psychics and one happened to be freaking dead. _Dead_. "What the hell are you getting yourself into here man?" he asked his reflection. He sighed and flipped the water on, washed his face and dried off with the towel dangling from the door. He stepped out feeling more composed.

Sam gave him a once over. "You feel any better now?"

Dean hesitated before nodding.

"Great. I mean I know all this is a lot to take in."

"Yeah. Right. I uh, gotta make a call." Dean picked up the abandoned phone and flipped it open. "To Lisa. Just Lisa. Not work."

"OK." Sam nodded once, trusting Dean's word.

Benny shrugged pretending he didn't care but Dean saw the way his shoulders tensed. He didn't fully trust Dean but it wasn't like he could stop him if he changed his mind, Dean realized. The only person that could physically stop Dean from calling in was Sam. But Sam seemed to have faith in Dean and he wondered why. "Not like I can stop you if I wanted to," Benny said.

"Just Lisa. I promise," Dean said. He didn't wait for a response, just pressed the speed dial #1 to his girlfriend's phone. He held his breath as he heard the rings on the other end, waiting for her to pick up. Finally she answered.

"Is this Detective Dean Colt?"

Shit. It wasn't her. It was an unfamiliar low pitched male voice on the other end and Dean suddenly panicked. He snapped his phone closed and looked at the men with wide eyes. Sam let out a groan in exasperation. Benny wore a blank look on his face.

"I-I'm sorry," Dean stuttered as Sam picked his one suitcase and began to haul it to the door wordlessly. "They got to Lisa so quick. I didn't realize."

"It's fine," Sam said curtly, fumbling with the door.

"What? No it's not! They probably traced the call to here," Dean said as he went to take the suitcase from Sam as the other man swung the door open after he unclasped the locks.

"It's really fine, Dean. You didn't really think we'd come here without a plan, did you?"

"Plan?"

"Look, this motel isn't base or anything. I just wanted a temporary place to get you up to speed so you wouldn't think I was kidnapping you or something," Sam said as they walked down the hall.

Dean took a deep breath through his nose, trying to process all this. It felt surreal. He almost believed he was dreaming some weird 007 James Bond movie. If they ever got a break he was going to laugh his head off. He was going to drink himself stupor and just laugh everything away. Sam must have sensed his near mental breakdown as he glanced back worriedly at Dean. They made it to a white Chevy before Dean realized something was missing. He glanced around for Benny but couldn't see him anywhere.

"Where's your friend?"

Sam pulled up the trunk and stuffed the suitcase in before closing it back. He gave a cursory glance around before he shrugged and hopped into the driver's seat. Dean took shotgun. "Oh he's around. Don't worry."

Dean sighed. He wasn't really worried, just curious. They backed out the parking lot as Dean got more comfortable. "Where we heading? Let me guess, this is the part where you admit you're the leader of some underground rebel group and we're going to meet up with them?" Dean joked.

"Uhm…" Sam's cheeks darkened with a blush. "Sort of."

Dean sighed as he leaned back in his seat. Yeah, he was definitely down the rabbit's hole at this point. He focused on the road ahead. "So…where to?"

"South Dakota."

"That where your rebel group's at, huh?"

"Yeah. Mostly. Bobby too."

Dean fell silent after that as Sam drove them out of California.


End file.
